


Kingmaker

by solitariusvirtus



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-04-21 03:40:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14276133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: “He was mad with grief. Those were his children.” Children that he had forced into wedlock with plans in place and shackles impossible to unfasten. “He thought the fire was a sign from the gods. That they were angry at him. It occurred to him a sacrifice might rectify the situation.”AU!





	1. A Sweet Song

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bastards had their well-ordained place somewhere in a deep dark corner where they could do no mischief. Where their sires would not be shamed by their presence. Thus to have been allowed at the table of his father, with true-born siblings no less had been a blessing. He, at least, had thought it kind beyond anything else that the lady of the house spared him smiles the same as she did to her own children, that she filled his plate and his cup as well whenever duty called for it, that she trusted him with her brood.

The shatter remnants of that very recollection struggled against the knowledge newly acquired. He stared at the men before him and tried to reconcile what he’d thought to be true with what he was told was truth.

“I want–“ What? What did he want? To wallow in guilt for something he apparently carried not the sin of? To spend a lifetime with regret and what-ifs? Rhaegar was not certain what he wanted. To, might be, carry on his father’s legacy. His true father’s, that was. To reach for what he’d thought impossible. Panic settled in as a rush of air left his lungs, making it impossible to speak. “Why?”

“He was mad with grief. Those were his children.” Children that he had forced into wedlock with plans in place and shackles impossible to unfasten. “He thought the fire was a sign from the gods. That they were angry at him. It occurred to him a sacrifice might rectify the situation.”

“He should have cut his own throat then!” The outburst was regarded with sympathy by older man.

“Alas he did not.” That was his father. Not his true father, but the man who’d raised him, taught him all he knew. “My sire was part of the small court that year. I do not know how he came about this notion of the man’s, only that I was called upon to follow him in great haste. We disposed of the man who was to carry through with the sacrifice.” A likely explanation. Rhaegar nodded, feeling sick to his stomach. “But my sire died on our way back home and you were left in my care.” An orphan and a bastard were not so different after all. He’d had need of a home. Lord Rickard Stark had provided. He listened. “I told them you were my son. And the rest is as you know it.”

Were it possible he should have liked to have such knowledge all those nights he tossed and turned for fear of being struck by the gods. Yet he had his absolution, no matter how small. “What am I to do now?” He’d come to the tourney as Rickard Stark’s son. It would raise too many questions to leave as the King’s kin of all things.

“Preparations are underway,” Duncan spoke. “You are without doubt Aerys’ child. Fret not and follow your course. Leave the rest to us. We shall settle it.”

Settle it how, he wondered. But he was not to find out that night. The King waved him off, allowing Rhaegar to return to whatever accommodations had been prepared for him. That he did, in hoped of catching a glimpse of the ever-elusive desire of his heart. A faint light from beneath the flap of his tent drew his attention away from such hopes. He inched towards it slowly, unsheathing the dagger he carried with him. With gentle movements, he drew the flap up and out of the way, peering within.     

“I thought you would never return.” His eyes widened. “What are you standing there for?” She spoke quietly. But not quiet enough for his taste. Without further thought he ventured within and let the flap fall in his wake.

“You should not be here.” He reached for her shoulder, tugging her from the mound of furs. But Lyanna, ornery little creature that she was, resisted his guidance with a determination so fierce he feared for them both.  “Have you gone mad, girl? You cannot be here.” She was not, after all, his sister in any way that counted, in any of those ways which would protect her from his will. She had to leave.

“If I am mad, it is you who has made me so.” She breathed harshly in the ensuing silence. “You will not even look at me?” He could not. She hadn’t even had the decency to throw something over her shift. Entirely too trusting, Lord Stark’s daughter. He did not wish to be the one to teach her what too much trust got her. At least not without the security that he might hold her after still.

There was a good chance of it. His father, for he found it strange to call him anything else, even in his own thoughts, had surely held hope of such when he took the poor, blighted orphan in. He would give Rhaegar a home, an education and whatever else he considered was needed, and Rhaegar would strengthen the North’s position. A good deal. It helped that he knew Lyanna, knew the woman she was. Which meant she’d been frightened for naught all these turns. Her father would not give her to Robert Baratheon.

A kinder man would have told her. Knelt by her, held her tightly and confess it all. Rhaegar finally turned to look into that sad, tormented face. He could not tell her until everything was in place. Aside from which, he rather enjoyed her chasing him about. “I only wanted to spend some time with you. Is that such hardship?”

Not to him. Although he suspected her father would have palpitations if it was brought to his attention that the girl had fallen head over heels for him while thinking them kin. She moved, throwing the furs back. Her hands gripped one of his. “Let me stay. Just for a little while. I shan’t be a bother. I will sit quietly here.” The thought of Lyanna sitting quietly anywhere brought a smile to his face. She was not looking at his face, however. “I have to spend the morrow at Robert’s side.”

“You should grow used to having him by your side. If you are to wed him, he will be there.” Mostly. Robert seemed to genuinely find Lyanna worthy of his interest. Had she felt even the smallest bit inclined to accept the man’s regard, Rhaegar imagined he would have felt guilty at parting them. As it was, he kept a neutral face as he motioned her over. Understanding without words, she made space for him.

“I know. And I will try my best.” She pressed herself into him after he joined her beneath the covers. “But for now I would push him from my thoughts.” Rhaegar looked down at her. The upturned face had those too-serious eyes. Surprisingly, it was an expression the Stark siblings had from their mother, especially Lyanna and Ned. “Howland won’t do it.”

Lyanna’s little project; he’d almost forgotten about it. “He won’t do what?” She’d saved the young man, all on her own, of all things, from three squires. His hand moved up and down her back in stroking motions. She accepted his touch with a smile.

“He won’t joust.” One of her legs moved beneath the furs until it draped over his, the inside of her thigh pressed against his hip. “I’ve tried everything. Everything. I appealed to his sense of honour. I offered to find him armour. I even went so far as to have Ned speak to him. He won’t budge.” She was asking without the words.

“Is there any particular reason for which you want him to joust?” he questioned, unwilling to delve deeper into the matter of convincing their friend from the marshes to take up a lance.

“If he wins, he’s bound to give the crown. I saved his life.” He laughed. A crown. She had no idea how close she was to having a crown. Again, he did not enlighten her. “I heard Lord Whent had it made of winter roses. That must mean aught, you know. Winter roses are my favourite.”

“You can have a crown made when we return home.”  She pouted. “What?”

“That is not the same. To be picked as queen of love and beauty, I should love to have that.” Again, she pressed into him. “I know, I know. Ser Arthur Dayne is like to win and I should not reach quite so high. And his sister is very beautiful.” Lyanna sighed.

“Indeed she is.” Stiffening beside him, she glanced up with something akin to annoyance. Lively and sweet, arresting in her own way; a man could easily fall for her.

“You do not have to agree so readily.” He’d known she would react thusly.

“Do you know, you have the most adorable expression upon you face.” The very same face flooded with colour and she huffed indignantly. The hand upon his chest curled into a fist. “What are you planning?” She shrugged. Lyanna was forever planning one thing or another. He’d grown used to it, for she had been such since they were children. That she chose to withhold from him the information gave him something to consider as he waited for the King and his father to come to some form of understanding. “I will get it out of you eventually.”

“You can try.” And from time to time she loved issuing challenges. It helped sharpen her wit and he was willing to serve as whetstone when the fancy struck her. “You will fail, of course, and I shall be glad to have this victory.” The fist relaxed, returning to its erstwhile position. Her head moved, the fine hair on her head brushing against his neck, arm and chest. He enjoyed its weight. There was something about the way the strands clung to him even as their owner. She would not relinquish him which suited him for he did not mean to let go either.

“Poor Lya.” Her only response to that was to shift ever so slightly. You can try charming Ser Arthur into giving you the crown.” The girl shivered. “You can be exceedingly charming when you set your mind to it.”

Still, if it was as he thought, why would his father dangle Lyanna before Robert Baratheon? He had made it clear he would not dislike the outcome if the two wedded. Was it a cover? Something to disguise his true intentions in case withholding any alliances through his daughter might seem suspicious. He pondered the matter further. Wedding Lyanna into House Baratheon could bring some advantages.

 “I would rather stay here than charm anyone.” She spoke the words in that shy way of hers, indicating she meant each and every single one of them. “Ser Arthur can bestow the crown on whomever he deems fit.”

“Do you truly want that crown?” It could not be overlooked that Lyanna was not so different from other young women her age.

“I thought it might be nice. I may not be Cersei Lannister’s equal in beauty, but at least I would have a crown given to me as opposed as holding one by default. Although considering it would come from Brandon, might be it’s best I give the dream up.” Her sigh rolled softly against him.

“Then I do not have to join the joust. You would not accept a crown from one of your brothers.” She shot up, consternation written all over her face. “Why do you look at me so?”

“You don’t joust.” He nodded. “And you do not need to. Not for me. I can make do without a crown.” Why not? Just one time. After all, Lyanna wanted the crown and she wanted those squires punished. It was not precisely the worst fate he could think of.

He merely pulled her down, stroking her hair gently. “You ought to sleep. The morrow is bound to be tiring.”

“But I must leave before sunup.”

“I shall wake you when it is time.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I see your shadows are absent.” Lyanna wished she might glower at Robert. He looked handsome enough in his light armour. Tall as a sentinel, but unfortunately a lot noisier, Lord Baratheon’s heir grinned his pleasure down at her. “Am I to understand I am beginning to gain their trust?” She did not know where Rhaegar was, as for Brandon, he had his own matters to deal with. The other two only the gods knew about.

“I am certain you have long held their trust,” she answered primly. “As for my bothers, I daresay ‘tis because I am their only sister that they have such care.” She wishes she hadn’t insisted on him waking her before the run rose. It did not matter if anyone found her there. They were brother and sister. Certainly, it would be looked upon as some curiosity. The gods certainly had a sense of humour.

There she was, a young maiden of good breeding, with an enviable position and anything she could possibly wish for. Except for one thing. The most important thing. Her own brother; of all the men in Westeros, it had to have been Rhaegar. She looked down upon the ground, affecting a demure mien for Robert’s benefit. Father had not told her she would wed Robert, certainly, but he had encouraged their closeness. Did it have to be said? Would the words make it more real?

“Wonderful words, my lady. Although one does not quite know whether to believe them or not.” She did not need him to believe her. But Lyanna kept the thought to herself. “If at all possible, would you give me your favour?” That she would have refused were there anyone else she might foist the favour upon, but she did not and thus took a ribbon from her sleeve, handing it to him.

“May it bring you good fortune on the field this day.” It was a ribbon. Nothing she would miss. She wanted one of her brothers, any of them would do. Yet not one of them was in sight. There was no danger with so many people about. Still she could not like this imposition. Her eyes drifted to the other men going about. Some she knew, some she did not.

She ought to have complained of some ailment or another.  Father would not have forced her if her health was poor, but them she would have missed the joust as well, for it would have been insisted upon that she take her rest and not move an inch unless she felt nothing else which upset her. Spinning a yarn would take too much of her.

Robert took his leave of her with more gallantry than she had expected, demanding no more of her than a few moments longer of attention. She gathered her patience and held it before her as a shield, offering him the good wishes he seemed so eager to have of her.

The herald began calling out names. She breathed her relief and hurriedly arranged her skirts about her so as to avoid looking at the men gathering in the ring. But whatever peace she was to have had, it was swiftly torn asunder. A small, slim figure cast its shadow over her. She first observed fine skirts with gold applications and followed it to a simple, undistinguished face. Her lips opened in greeting, in shock, but the woman placed a finger to her lips and sat down at her side.

“You mustn’t give me away now,” she said. In truth she did not look a queen at all; years at court seemed not to have polished her. “My husband would be most displeased to know I have sneaked away yet again.”      

 “Very well, my lady. Your secret is safe with me.” For the time being, at least. Lyanna glanced away for just a moment, annoyed when Robert came into her line of sight.

“Which one of them is your beau?” She started and turned to deny any such liaison. But the Queen smiled impishly at her. Forcing herself to calm down, she drew in a long breath.

“He is not my beau. And I prefer the joust.” Even if she would not get a crown out of it. Dutifully, she then pointed Robert out for the woman. “My father thinks it a good match.”

“Does he?” It was a question which needed no answer. The Queen watched the men at their toil as Lyanna fixed her stare upon a random competitor, allowing herself to drift away.  Might be she could convince father to allow her to take the veil. No Stark had conquered the Seven-Pointed Star yet. That was certain to please him as well as any marriage.

“How old are you, girl?” She jerked her head to the side.

“Four and ten.” The Queen produced a thoughtful sound. Lyanna blinked against the confusion building within her. “I do not understand the significance of the question.”

“Four and ten is young. Might be too young.” Too young for what. Lyanna dared not question; she was fairly certain she hadn’t been meant to hear that. Instead she turned her attention to the men and their arms. This was all very strange. There had to be some explanation. Queens did not seek out ladies such as herself, they summoned them. Kings might closet themselves away with their advisers, but to do so at a tourney? She would find out what it was and once she did, her brothers’ ears would ring. She’d see to that.

Lyanna kept herself as still as she could, wishing Rhaegar were there so she might show him just how dignified she could be. He still saw her as a child, which helped her cause none. Unfortunately he was not there and in his place was this woman who made her uncomfortable. She did not want to be so near to the Queen. There was something there, something she instinctively drew away from.

The herald spoke once more. She closed her eyes against the wave threatening to overtake her.   

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know...confusing. I promise there is a reasonable explanation, in the following chapters. Scout's honour.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed. And I'll think of a better summary, at some point. I hope.
> 
> Bye!


	2. Warped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update added 05.11.2018

 

 

 

 

 

 

Having absconded with Benjen away from prying eyes and prattling tongues, Lyanna should have been able to enjoy the silence. She glanced at her brother whose head bent in prayer, his devotion unquestionable. A sigh threatened to burst past her lips. Ridiculous how one needed to be in the presence of gods for even the smallest of mercies. Nevertheless, her eyes darted towards the protruding roots. She had already asked the gods to guide her brother’s hand during the joust. Given none but Brandon wished to compete, that venture turned out to be rather humble in its usage of her time.

The weirwood before her was much like the one home and in the same measure very different from the one home. The scarring on its emaciated body spoke of a deplorable lack of care. It survived, it would seem, by sheer force of will. She dared not reach out and touch it, for she feared what it was that her hands would find upon closer inspection. Suffice to see it from so close to know its state. Would the gods even listen to their pleas from such a ramshackle home? At the very least they could have cut away the weeds chocking the great tree.

Behind them the rustling of leaves provided ambient noise to the cracking of twigs, a background to the signs indicating invasion, or as near as could be on a much smaller scale. The hair on the back of her neck stood as panic rose within her breast. Naturally, no immediate threat followed, casting her fears into shadow. A chuckle from Benjen forced her gaze to his. “You put much stock into this mistrust of Southrons.”

“And you do not pay it enough heed.” Southrons were weak in their convictions and suffering under the effects of moral decay. “Albeit, I admit to feeling vaguely entertained by this buffoonery.” As much as something inherently lacking value could entertain someone. “Have you convinced him yet?”

“Howland is a tougher nut to crack than I would’ve thought possible. I think he won’t do it irrespective of my arguments. We’d best give it up.” He abandoned his position for a strategically placed log, leaving her the lonely one on her knees. Lyanna could not help a smile at the grin he offered, for she understood the jest. “The gods must not wish him to pick up the lance. Who are we to go against the gods?”

“What are you suggesting?” She’d been hoping a good night’s rest might sway the man. Apparently, corruption has slithered its appendages throughout the land, the Neck included.

“That the natural law will see itself to end; the weak die.” Her brother kicked at the dirt beneath his feet, managing to dislodge a few blades of grass along with the uplifting of dust. “I cannot understand this desire of yours.”

She needed support. “It is good to have many favours owed to oneself. You never know when you may need some aid.” Benjen made a thoughtful sound, watching her as she rose as well. Lyanna dusted off her skirts. “Now I will have to find some other individual in need of aid.”

“What a strange notion of charity, sister mine. And here I thought you were doing it out of the goodness of your own heart.” She smiled drolly. Benjen delighted in shining a light on what he thought to be flaws in her character. She, on the other hand, considered them a merely pragmatic bent of inherent characteristics.   

“You would not be wrong for I promise my heart is deeply involved.” Just, might be, not in the way he envisioned or wished it to be. “Robert will be arriving soon. It might be prudent to make yourself scarce.”

“Another act of charity? And so soon? I thought you preferred the joust to his company.” She kept her peace, in no mood to enlighten her brother as to her motives. At the end of the day, her father had decided Robert was to be her husband.

“It is not charity. I think of it as an investment.” She would likely never grow to love Robert; his very actions driving a wedge between them. But she would have to wed him irrespective of her own desire in that regard. Much as she was loathe to admit, Rhaegar was correct in his assessment of the situation. At the very least she was going to use her new position to accrue further influence. She would need more if her plan was to work.

“Much as I hate to say this, such actions will only give credence to the rumour we have ice running through our veins. And by us, I mean you. ” She snorted. “Don’t be so quick to laugh it off. ‘Tis not an attractive feature.” She could well do without his needling. Nonetheless, she responded to his dressing down with a sharp glare.

“How would you know that? You are barely out of leading strings.” The attack elicited a snarl before Benjen managed to find his bearings enough to smooth his expression into something lax and empty. And he accused her of being cold. “Aside from which, attractive or not, Robert is contracted to wed me. I daresay it would take divine intervention or near equivalent for him to turn away from me.”

No comment on her outward assurance came from her brother’s corner, although she could tell from the furrow of his brow that he desired to. But for all his unsolicited assessments, she was not yet that dim to not recognise there was a seed of truth to what he said. If she cared for Robert’s good opinion, the predicament should have naturally cast her into despondency. As matters stood, she merely felt sorry for her brother’s distress at the prospect of seeing her at odds with her future spouse. To ease his mind, she added, “Do not mistake me. I mean to have a perfectly civil union with the man.”

“What of respect and affection?” Benjen questioned, for a first allowing his voice to reflect precisely his feelings. She loathed his openness on such occasions. While Lyanna very much understood his desire to live according to such principles and would have very much enjoyed  the freedom to follow, her affections were engaged in quite deplorable a corner and her respect, as for that, she could never name it as she wished.

“You ask too much of me.” In some ways it was perfectly reasonable for him to show such distaste. She was not the hero of this tale, Lyanna reminded herself, lest all the pretty wrapping of concern turn her into a ninny. “I have made myself clear, I expect, in outlining such protests as I have to his character. But father declared I am to have him and so I shall. Whatever else will come, I cannot control.”

“Would you not have an easier time of it if you at least allowed yourself to be impressed. I’ve spent time with him, you know; he is not as bad as all that. As for the,” there her brother paused, his face growing red under the effects of callous youth, “women,” at least he put it politely enough, “evidently they mean little to him.”

“You must be more naïve than I thought.” He bristled, stepping towards her with fire in his eyes. Lyanna evaded his reach, aware he’d not put his full force and cunning behind capturing her. It was an action born out of a temper’s flare. As such, Benjen found himself on the receiving end of a swat from her. “Pray do not do that. You will wrinkle my kirtle.” If it were possible for her brother to become even redder surely his poor head would explode with the flush.

“You overreach.” The crack of his words gave her pause. She turned a speculative eye towards the boy, considering him for a few silent moments, instinctively drawing further away from him. He followed her, though not physically. Aware the reprieve would not hold out unless she tempered down his ire, she searched for the right words.

Unfortunately, having not been gifted with a glib tongue, she reached blindly. “And you overreact. There is little reason to take on so. After all, my marriage to Robert Baratheon is as naught to you.”

“You are my sister.” A superfluous explanation and a lukewarm sentiment; he sounded as though he was not pleased. “And if that blasted coldness had corroded even the last of your sisterly affection, know that there are some of us cannot so easily sever familial ties.” She could not allow herself to be cast into an abyss of guilt over such unimportant sentiments.

“Then you must try your best, Benjen, for I have no intention of altering my plans.” He should have nothing to say to it in the first place.

“Then you leave me no choice but to take the matter before our father. I would rather not have to.” If ever there was to be a mark against her brother, that had to be it.

“If you feel you must.”     

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jenny pressed her thumb into her palm, rubbing the small scar which was barely visible after so many years.  Her eyes were not on the ancient wound, but rather upon her husband and the young man he’d decided to take under his wing. Their conversation did not reach her ears, they were simply too far away. But she could make out, by their expressions, that they were getting along marvellously.

“Your Majesty?” The question jolted her attention away from the pair and back towards one of her companions. Serra Farring stared at her with obvious concern, “You were not attending, Your Majesty.” That she had not been. She smiled placidly, making some excuse. “My lady, you mustn’t be so absentminded.”

“I cannot help it.” Her companion frowned as though the many years through which they had abided together had not quite prepared her for such an answer. “I find it so very tiresome to remain surrounded by the same tired faces day in and day out.” She shifted in her seat as though to lead credence to her words.

“You are not trying.” That was true enough. Jenny smiled, commenting that Serra knew her too well and before long she would have to find a less strict companion. “You must try, Your Majesty,” the other woman spoke with much dignity. Unable to help herself, Jenny let out a decidedly undignified bark of laughter, not bothering to hide her mirth behind a well-placed hand.

Lady Serra winced gently, her eyes straying towards the other of her companions, ever stoic miller’s daughter, Meryel. In spite of her lack of rank and poor humour, Meryel acquitted herself admirably, being, as Serra would put it, a credit to her entire sex. Jenny could not say she was surprised at such a conclusion.

“Pray, my lady,” Meryel said, keeping her face expressionless, “recall we are in view of the entire realm.” After years and years of being stared at she did not feel, at all, the weight of others’ observation.  They would stare and be satisfied in their curiosity, or not, and the world would continue as it were had.

“Of course”, she gave in gracefully, nevertheless. At times it was so much easier to do as her companions wished. Aside from that, Lord Stark had promised them the company of his charming family and she had a few questions to find answers to. “You are correct. I shall do my very best.”

Her words were met with due approval if not outright enthusiasm. Like as not, even the hopeful Serra knew her reform would at best last the day and then she would return to whatever plans she had made. It had been thus for much of their association. She bit back on her amusement and arranged herself becomingly in her seat, her eyes searching for her husband yet again. He and his newfound interest had not moved too much further away, just enough to signal to her that matters had progressed well and before long they would reach a better understanding.  

“Oh, my lady, you know we only wish to make it as easy as it can be. These nobles, they do not always give in easily.” That they never gave in would be the more accurate statement, but Jenny kept her peace. They were all of them much too advanced in years to take on a battle of wits and hope no ill came of it. She knew her companions well. “Why should you give them the satisfaction of easy victory?” On that she agreed without reserve.

“Enough about these nobles and their odd behaviour. ‘Tis best not to think too much upon it.” She did so wish they might make for the gardens instead of sitting within. Alas, such discussions as the ones springing between the most important pieces of the game could not be held without some care. More’s the pity. Thus she did her best to sit still until an end was reached and Duncan recalled her preference for open spaces. Her husband did not disappoint.

“Come, my lady, I see you are growing wan from lack of sunlight.” He teased her as she always did, most at ease with her grumbling at such treatment. “Let us see the flowers growing in Lord Whent’s gardens and you may tell me which you like best.”

“And why, Your Majesty, have you a wish to know which I like best?” she questioned innocently, putting the intricate matters of throne and realm out of mind. She’d never been much of a player and did not intend to become one in any event. With that in mind, she allowed Duncan to fix her hand in the crook of his arm and lead her away.

Aerys’ son followed behind them as per Duncan’s request, keeping some distance as though to offer them a modicum of space. “I noticed,” Duncan spoke, commanding her attention, “that Lady Serra was admonishing you once again. Tell me, what manner of mischief have you now entangled yourself into?”

“The usual sort, I daresay. And Lady Serra is forever chiding me about something or another. I did not think you took notice any longer.”  He grinned at her and shook his head. To that she could only offer a gentle shrug and attempt to divert his attention, “What say you about the boy them? Is he the one?”

“I owe him a debt, my lady. What my brother did is reprehensible beyond words. That my father gave in is for me a most cutting betrayal.” He sighed. “If I thought him unfit, I would have simply let him live out the rest of his days as Lord Stark’s byblow. By all accounts he led a good life there.”

“And you agree that Northerner girl will make a good wife?” Something like amusement flickered upon her husband’s face. Jenny frowned and then reddened. “I forget you do not look at the situation quite in that manner.”

“Would that I might. Alas, I cannot afford to do so. She comes from a great house and her assets are not negligible.” His expression turned thoughtful and it took a few moments for him to speak again. “Have you some misgivings?”  

Duncan asked for her opinion from time to time. Jenny always gave it, to the best of her abilities. Somehow, however, she always got the feeling that he viewed her mode of thinking with sympathy and an enduring compassion born out of love rather than true understanding. For all his good opinion of the common man, he would never manage to be on the same page as she was. Such moments underlined the gulf between them and saddened her to a great degree.

It did not help that her biggest regret was having little to tether her to his world. Once it became clear there would be no babes, their marriage suddenly became palatable if not outright accepted by the lords and ladies of thee realm and she had to resign herself to never truly understanding her husband in spite of the great love chaining her to him. And time wore on, as it ever had, and all was as well as it could be.

“Not misgivings precisely. I have barely spoken two words to her, so I do not think myself an expert on her character.” She patted his arm gently. “But there is something about the way she looks at one. It’s nearly enough to make me shudder. And I cannot like that.” Jenny nibbled on her lower lip, debating whether she ought to voice all of her thoughts upon the matter. “She is cold. Very much like her father, I expect. But she is also determined.”

“Determined?” There was curiosity in his voice and some approval. “That is good. He will not have an easy time of taking the throne. A queen with a backbone will do him good.”

“She has been his superior all her life. The way one feels cannot be easily changed.” The boy seemed a good enough sort. It would be a pity to settle him with such a creature that might see only the ill in him. “Sometimes a crown does not make up for what one feels is being lost.”

“Are you saying she prefers another, or that she simply sees little of worth in Rhaegar?” It would not change his plans, she did not think. But then he had asked. And she owed him an answer.

“I do not believe she prefers another and to be perfectly frank I do not know that she thinks the man lacking worth.” She released a deep breath. “I can only say that she is young and this task may well be beyond her powers and capabilities. It might be wise to prepare her, even if we do so in a less blatant manner.”

“By all means, dearest wife, if you can do that, I beg you would.” The lack of concern troubled her and yet again she wondered at the distance between them.   

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Might Makes Right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read End note pls

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Why, I do not know that I could join you,” Lyanna answered, self-preservation taking the forefront position among her concerns. She knew fairly well what it meant to abide by a man in the wilderness, and if she did not know quite in detail what such entailed, she was aware of the results. “Brandon, tell him it is not done,“ she asked of her sibling who was standing a small distance away, conversing with Old Arryn’s heir.

“What is not done?” Brandon questioned, pausing to look at her and Robert. Lyanna congratulated herself of a swift escape as she explained Robert’s invitation to her brother. “Of course that cannot be, my good man,” her kin addressed Robert in a far more jovial manner than Lyanna would have liked, “you must take two of our men with you. You understand, maidens are so delicate after all.” Their status was, in any event.

Deflating slightly at the notion that she was to go with Robert after all, Lyanna rolled back her shoulders and adopted a regal posture. Whatever it was the man wished to say to her, she’d make certain to treat him with utmost courtesy. The more she considered the matter, the more sense it made to make an ally out of Robert. She might not be able to change her father’s mind, but husbands, she had heard, could be quite indulgent if one picked the right tack. She simply had to discover what it was that he valued and play her cards right.

Thus when the men were picked out and her betrothed’s arm was offered to her, she did her utmost best to appear receptive if not outright pleased at their close proximity. Her father’s men walked a few paces behind them, far away enough that if they spoke quietly the conversation would not carry. It was better, she reasoned, that they did not hear; the words of lovers were supposed to be a secret. It might aid in the illusion she wished to perpetrate.

Robert led them to, of all placed, the godswood. A small bench had been brought from, she imagined, within the keep. It was a wooden affair, skillfully carved with an image of the hunt. He bade her to have a seat, which she accepted, taking just one peek at their guards. The men had taken up positions near one of the sturdier trees and were discussing something in quiet tones. It was the very best outcome. Lyanna turned her gaze to Robert just in time to see him pacing to and fro.

“Is something the matter?” she questioned gingerly, resisting the urge to sigh. The man was in clear need of an ear. She would fulfil that duty and prove to herself that nothing was beyond her reach. “You seem,” Lyanna paused for effect, “agitated.”

“I wanted to speak to you upon a matter.” That much was clear. Alas, she could not urge him to take on a pace he did not wish to, thus Lyanna concerned herself with settling comfortably upon the bench before giving him her attention once more. Robert watched her back with a longing gaze. “You know the state of the royal family.”

“The state of the royal family?” What had that to do with anything, she wondered. “I’m afraid I do not see how that matters to us.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Was he nervous? Whatever for? She blinked, as if to dispel the apparitions before her. But nay, ‘twas truly that he was nervous. What a thing from so confident a man. She could hardly credit it.

“Quite a bit, my lady. Quite a bit.” Robert cleared his throat, joining her on the bench. He took her hand in his. “I was not going to bring it up, you know, but the more I thought about it, the more I saw the need to do it after all. You well know that His Majesty has no hair at the moment, nor has he named someone yet.” She nodded, her mind grasping at stray thoughts. “Summerhall played a most cruel game with the royal family. The only close kin yet living serves on the Wall. Beyond that, it is to other houses that the King must look for an heir.”

The meaning of his words struck her. And finally, after long hours of being plagued by disbelief, she thought she understood her father just a tad better. “Are you suggesting he means to have you for an heir?” Why had she not considered that?

“My grandmother was sister to His Majesty. He ought to have wedded a daughter of House Baratheon but instead he chose–“ Robert stopped abruptly. “I have more right to the throne then some Penrose or Velaryon.”

“That is wonderful, indeed.” She squeezed his hand back, feeling a smile take over. “But what does that mean for us?” Herself a queen; Lyanna would have squealed if she did not fear that was too telling a reaction. Why, if she was queen, she could simply have Rhaegar come to court. He might ascend to the Small Council with the proper support. Father would not be opposed, he did not need the man in Winterfell. Or might be Rhaegar would prefer the Kingsguard. To be always at her side.

“It does not change how I feel about you, my lady. But I hope it might prove the depth of my affection to you.” What a fool the man was; but all the better. Lyanna took a deep breath, as though in contemplation. “I know you have some misgivings about our union.”

Time to search for all the honeyed words she could muster in the man’s company. “I fully allow that some misgivings cloud my skies. But then, I know you not half as well as I wish to. Does that offend?”

“Not at all. We are here together to know one another.” His other hand, the one not engaged in holding hers, found its way to the side of her waist. His touch was light, almost as though it was an accidental brush. She did not protest. “I am ever so glad that we are.” His hand settled more firmly on the spot he’d touched.

That was when Lyanna jumped out of her seat. “Indeed, as am I. Which reminds me, shall you attend the jousts as well. I am told there are some skilled competitors this year and I should enjoy your perspective on the display of skill.”

Robert stood with less haste, his movements almost measured. For a brief moment she thought she caught a hint of disappointment in his expression before it was wiped away by a benevolent turn. “Ser Arthur Dayne is a favourite, along with your own brother, I understand.” He continued to speak of the men engaged to compete, much to her delight, allowing her time to plan.

Say that she did manage to bring Rhaegar into the Small Council, his position would be more secure if he were a lord of the realm. But where there any houses in peril that might make an heir out of him with enough incentive? That she had no answer to. The only other option, baring a war, was marriage to a heiress. Her very soul wept in protest. To see Rhaegar married to some woman who would never know how to appreciate him was too much to bear. What a cruel fate. Why did he have to be born a byblow? And why her father’s byblow?

The gods took joy in tormenting her, Lyanna decided. Otherwise there would be no blood between them and no ties which made it so impossible to ever reach him in the way she wished to. Her dissatisfaction with life aside, Robert had moved on to another subjects altogether and Lyanna perceived it might be better to indulge him some more.

A whole lifetime of it awaited her. She looked to the years ahead, repeating to herself over and over again that the sacrifice was worth the gain. Even cruel gods would be able to tell that she was not doing it for herself, not entirely in any case. While she could well recognise the benefits of power, were she not in need of it, Lyanna suspected it would be much more pleasant to live out her days in ignorant bliss. If anything, power was a danger to her well-being.

Whatever the case, she was returned to her awaiting brothers within a decent timeframe, which gladdened her ever so much considering the joust was coming up, and what gave her even more pleasure was that Robert was called away on some matter by his very own lord father. Might be she had exaggerated the gods’ lack of concern for her.

What she did not expect was to be dragged away by the one brother who had truly no stakes in the whole of it as far as he could see. Thus Lyanna found herself staring up into Rhaegar’s face trying to discern the reason for his apparent annoyance. “I thought you did not enjoy Baratheon’s company.”

“I don’t.” There was hardly any reason to hide the truth from him. “But politics is a game of compromise. And I mean to come out the winner, you know.” He didn’t by the look on his face. Lyanna toyed with the thought of revealing more to him. But wouldn’t it be that much more meaningful if he was unaware? “Do not worry about me. I am going to make our house proud.”

“You are enough of a credit to our house as is. In fact, you’ve attracted a lot of attention with mere presence.” Perceiving he did not refer to Robert, Lyanna felt compelled to ask for details. It could never hurt to know who she might count on if matters did not go as she wished. “The King for one.”

“The King. Oh, Rhaegar, you jest.” She tittered heartily until she noticed he was not joining her. “You are not serious, are you?”

“Do you know me to be much for jests?” She shook her head though she knew the question had not been expecting answers. “I’ve heard our lord father discussing the matter with Lord Whent. For some reason the King wishes to know more about you.”

Duncan Targaryen was a man long past his first youth. If his features did not quite mark him for a Targaryen, then his height did. In spite of his age, he was still fairly active, going on many a hunt last she’d heard, and even jousting in private. That explained the good shape he kept himself in. Might be in a few years’ time he’d be closer in look to his ancestors, as she’s already seen his temples greying. Not an unwelcome sight, by any means. He had the grace to carry it off.

And the Queen, now that was another story altogether. Lyanna thought about the woman, wondering if His Majesty ever regretted wedding her. To make matters worse she was unable to breed. There had never even been talk of children.

“Is that so? I am deeply honoured.” And most willing to engage the King’s attention. Another thought came to her. Lyanna glanced down at her kyrtle, a sudden worry taking hold of her. “I ought to put on the red,” she spoke, holding up the hem of her dark garb.

“What are you on about?” Rhaegar took her by the shoulders, holding her still. “Clothing is of no concern just now.”

“Of course it is of concern. You would not have me appear shabby before His Majesty, would you?” she shook off his hold. “We must all make an effort, you know. Father would be ever so pleased if the King took a liking to any of us. It would certainly help some careers.”

“Is that what you wish to do? Help your brother’s careers?” Why did he sound upset by that? It was natural to care about one’s own family.

“I wish to help you, can’t you see that?” He gazed down into her face, as though in disbelief. Lyanna snorted. “I will make certain each and every one of you has the proper support to advance in His Majesty’s court. And if I have to wear the fussiest kyrtles to accomplish it, you can be certain I will.”

“Your brothers are well connected as is. You need not make an effort on their behalf.” She bit into her lower lip to stave off the words crawling their way up her constricting throat. “You are here to enjoy the tourney, my lady, and that is all.”

“Are you done?” she demanded. At a nod, she continued heedless of the delicate information she was revealing. “I will enjoy the tourney on my won terms and what will please me best is to see my brothers secure in their future positions. You included, Rhaegar.” He looked as if he were about to protest. Lyanna cut him off. “Being that I am not a son, I must make use of the weapons I have. If His Majesty is interested in me, good; I shall use the opportunity to point out the many commendable attributes of my brothers. If Robert wishes to wed me, excellent; I will make certain to put the entire clout of his house behind my brothers in all of their endeavours.”

Something like tenderness touched her brother’s face just then. His hand came up to cup the side of her face. Still bristling, she failed to appreciate the comfort such a gesture offered. “You do not need to make any such sacrifices for us. I would not ask it of you. None of us would.”

“Is this about that nonsense regarding the duty to make one’s own way? That is foolish. You are not alone so naturally you must expect our aid.” He looked away. She hated when he did that, put up walls between them for some reason. “Or is it because you are a natural born son?” His reaction was not what she’d expected.

“That is simply the way of the world, Lya. I am content in my position. It would be ungrateful to demand more.” It was those words that truly angered her; his willingness to step on his own pride when he knew he was better than that. Humility did not suit him.

“That is preposterous.” She found it within herself to speak the words evenly. Might be she was learning some restraint, after all. “There have been many natural born children who achieved much by wit alone. You have that and more. I will not stand here and allow you to speak such words about yourself. Aim for the brightest star in the sky and I will see to it that you get it.”

“Why?” The shift in his expression gave her pause. He was reading her. Rhaegar did that at times, looked deep into those he spoke to as if to gauge their motives. She would not find anything amiss with hers. Lyanna was determined. “Because we are kin?”

When put like that, her words may speak the truth while still retaining the shield of decency. “Aye. Because I would never accept to be so far removed from your sphere or you from mine.” She might have to give him up to some woman after all. Kingsguards had little power in the way that mattered.

A small grin broke across his lips. “And you do not think it ill-advised to use those around you in such a manner?” She could hardly see what he was complaining about. It was not as though she meant to cause anyone harm.

“Power will give me legitimacy,” she shrugged. She only had to obtain a bit more of it and for the time being she had two paths set before her. The only thing to do was to gauge the viability of each and make her choice. With some haste, if her brother’s curiosity was any indication of how her actions would be interpreted. Father had to be kept unaware.

“For a time, until someone more powerful comes along.” His thumb brushed against the corner of her mouth.

“If I meant to count only on myself, I suppose. But then there are many paths to power, aren’t there?” She smiled sweetly. “It is the nature of things to transform. And I am ever so good in adapting.”

“What will you do if you are wrong? Apologise?” The slight mocking tone should have clued her in, but Lyanna as so far into her planning that she managed a feeble chuckle in response.

“I am not wrong. But even if I were, it is the powerless that apologise to the powerful.” She held his gaze. Sometimes she wondered where all these ideas sprang to life in his mind from. He knew as well as any other that truth was on the side of the victor. Nevertheless, she would not convince him. Not with such short a time left. The only thing she could do was act and he would come to learn that she had done the best that could be done.

Drawing away from him, she shook out her skirts. “There is not much time left until the joust begins and I have yet to change. Would you be so kind as to give me a moment?”    

He nodded. “This is not over; I hope you know.”But he did depart, as he’d promised, leaving her to make her way to the tents. Thankfully, he revealed none of her plans for even after she had managed to get the blasted red kyrtle on there was no sight of father marching towards her tent. Relief suffused her whole being as she went on to blithely comb her hair. Best to leave it free of restraints, so as to create a more obvious contrast between herself as the Southron girls milling about.    

Lyanna hummed a merry tune under her breath, contemplating the many possibilities just rearing their head.   

 

    

              

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, everyone. The new year is almost upon us. Since I doubt I'll be posting again on the big stories I want to take a moment to wish you all a Happy New Year, lots of good fortune and a wonderful time with your loved ones!
> 
> Admin stuff:
> 
> [The Discord server](https://discordapp.com/invite/nTWHNUR) had undergone some reorganizing. In case anyone has been too caught up in all the holiday cheer to drop by, y'all now have roles and we have a shiny wight (read: bot) of our own.


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